Keeper of My Heart
by musikgirl
Summary: Adriana Caine, the daughter of world famous Quidditch chaser Gregory Caine, hates Quidditch. And there's another thing she hates: Oliver Wood. He hates her, too. Or do they? Follow Ana through the twists and turns, but be ready for the unexpected. OWOC
1. Adriana Caine

_Author's Note: I do not own the concept of __Harry Potter (Hogwarts, Quidditch, and any random characters), nor Oliver Wood, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Fred or George Weasley; these belong to Joanne K. Rowling. I do, however, own Adriana Caine, as well as her family, and a few random characters. Please do not steal. (Not that you'd want to, but hey – don't)._

_This story takes place during the third book, though it really has nothing to do with the plot of the book. It's Oliver's seventh year and Adriana's (and Alicia, Fred, George, and Angelina's) fifth._

Chapter 1 - Adriana Caine

A mahogany-brown haired girl with black-rimmed eyes strolled down Platform 9 ¾ toward a group of teenagers standing next to one of the cars. They smiled and stopped talking when they saw her approach.

"Hey, Ana!" they greeted her as she turned to give the boys – Fred and George Weasley – hugs.

"Hey, guys," she said, smiling broadly while she kissed her two best friends, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, on the cheek. She chuckled a bit, contented to finally being in their presence, and then continued. "So, do you guys wanna find a c-"

The twins cut her off. "What, and we don't get a kiss?" they cried in mock anger. Ana rolled her eyes and planted a kiss on both of them. They smiled at her, satisfied.

"Now, may we please find a compartment?" she asked, laughing but a little impatient. All five of them filed onto the train car, searching for an empty booth. They entered the first one they saw, stowed their trunks on the overhead shelf, and sat down, the three girls on one bench and the boys across. Alicia was the first to speak.

"How was your holiday?" she inquired. "Mine was great. So relaxing to get away from all the school work." She sighed, reminiscing.

"Oi! Ours was fun-," cried George, "-but I wouldn't call it relaxing!" Fred finished. Their grins widened as they recalled their experience. "Remember Ron's reaction?" Fred asked, and they burst out laughing.

"I went to a muggle amusement park," Angelina chimed in when the laughter died down. "It was kind of fun, but extremely odd." She explained more about the coasters and the food. "Everything was deep fried in vats of oil – it was great, but I almost hurled on the coaster." She shuddered at the thought.

"Hey, what'd you do, Ana?" Alicia asked her once she realized Ana hadn't contributed. Ana shrugged.

"Eh, you know. Quidditch," she told them. "My father introduced me to one of his wretched old teammates. The man did a flip when he realized that I didn't play, and then almost died of shock when my father told him that I was a Gryffindor." She shook her head and began to mock him in a very low-pitched voice, "'A pureblood Caine not in Slytherin, much less not play Quidditch? That's preposterous, Greg, what has become of your daughter?" She screwed her face into an over-exaggerated look of shock, and then laughed along with the others. "But, other than that," she concluded, "mostly Quidditch."

Ana's father, Gregory Caine, was the world-famous star chaser of the Montrose Magpies, and over-obsessed with Quidditch. That was the reason Ana's mother, Aurora, left her father; she felt as though Greg couldn't love anything but Quidditch. What she didn't know, though, was that Greg loved his daughter very much, and when Aurora asked Ana to move away with her, Ana refused. And so, Aurora killed herself. She has been dead for three years. Aurora had been rich, and Ana was to inherit this fortune when she turned seventeen.

As she thought of her parents, Ana absent-mindedly traced the long thin tattoo of a broom on the underside of her arm. It was about 5 inches long and had been there for as long as she could remember, another reminder of her father's obsession with Quidditch. Her reverie was broken when someone entered the compartment.

Hogwarts' own Quidditch obsessor.

Oliver Wood.

Ana groaned. "Speak of the devil," she muttered. Not that they had been talking about him. She just felt the need to say that.

"There's the other half of my team," he declared as he entered. "And Caine." The tone of his voice changed drastically when he said her name. It was easy to tell he hated her.

"Wood," she retorted, almost spitting on him in the process. Oliver ignored her and began to talk to the others, undoubtedly about Quidditch. Ana had never liked Oliver; in fact, she despised him. And since he had always made a point of not liking her, they became enemies.

It's funny how such a simple thing can make two people hate one another. Or so people thought.

But when have people's thoughts ever been right?


	2. Sexy Oliver? What?

I groaned sleepily and continued my lazy trudge up Gryffindor tower to the common room. I had been at my fourth year of Hogwarts for one week, and already my fifteen-year-old resilience couldn't handle it. The Fat Lady griped at me for a password, and after she finally translated my slurred speech into something that slightly resembled the word, swung open. I crawled through the hole and sunk into a chair.

"What have we here?" questioned Angie, who was peering down at me. "Tired already? It's only eight!" She laughed at me and sat down in the chair next to mine.

"Cut it out, Ange, it was a long week! Finally, a weekend where I can relax, and sleep…ah, yes, sleep…" I mumbled, my brain drifting to some far-off Ana land. I felt stinging on my face – Angie must have slapped me – and jolted up to listen. She was muttering something.

"Snap out of it, Ana, maybe you should go to bed. It's better than passing out here in the common room," she told me, taking my wrist and tugging me in the direction of the dorms.

Just then, a boy (who was appropriately name by the contents of his head…wood) walked in. Oliver Wood, no less. Who else? He stopped, looking at the two of us in our pathetic state. I giggled.

"You're looking very sexy tonight, Wood," I said sarcastically, commenting on his disheveled look. He rolled his eyes, but Angie obviously didn't pick up on the sarcasm because she looked horrified.

"Okay, you really are delusional. Let's get you to bed," she said, trying to send Oliver an apologetic look through her eyes.

"Don't worry Angelina, she's being sarcastic," he told her, his Scottish brogue a little more apparent this late at night. "But she's right, you know – unlike her, I don't look like a train hit me." He laughed and returned to his books.

I rolled my eyes and jerked my wrist from her hands. "I'm fine. I'll be upstairs." I nodded to Angie and made my way to our dorm. Halfway up the staircase, I turned around. "Oh, and Wood – you're right, you don't look like you got hit by a train. You look more like you've been wrestling with one of the creatures we're supposed to be studying in Hagrid's class." I laughed and turned around, but I could feel the glare he shot me.

I walked into the dorm and flopped on the bed, not bothering to change my robes. Angelina came up a few minutes later.

"You really have to stop treating Oliver like that. What'd he ever do to you?" she asked me, sitting down on the end of my bed. I situated myself into an upright position and looked her in the eye.

"Are you seriously going to ask me that question?" I implored. I rolled my eyes and leaned back on my elbows. She shook her head and stood up, entering the bathroom. Alicia, Angie, and I were lucky – we'd gotten a room with just the three of us, along with our own lavatory.

"He was looking perfectly fine, you know," she said as she left the lavatory brushing her hair. I groaned.

"Don't start that, of course he's hot. That doesn't change the fact that I can't stand the boy," I cried, collapsing back on the bed. "If you like him so much, why don't you ask him out?"

"She doesn't like him," Alicia said coolly as she walked through the door. I simpered.

"But I know somebody who does…_Leesh!_" I shouted. She turned red and sat down on her four-poster, sulking.

"I can't believe you found out," she replied, shaking her head. "It's no use lying to you two." She frowned, and then smiled again. "Honestly, though, how can you resist?" She giggled.

"You don't want me to answer that," I said, giggling with her. Angelina peeked out again from the loo.

"We're such an odd trio when it comes to him," she stated. "I mean, one of us hates him, the other loves him, and the last is indifferent." We chuckled some more, and I began to change into my pajamas.

"Come on, though!" Alicia insisted. "He's got those deep brown eyes, perfect brown hair, a hot body…and his sexy accent! He's gorgeous!" She swayed dreamily and lay back on her pillow. I rolled my eyes and crawled under my comforter.

"'Course he is, Leesh," I replied sarcastically, closing my eyes. "Maybe someday, instead of telling that to us, you'll be down in the common room snuggling and telling it to him."

She sighed happily. "Maybe…but not likely. He'd never go for a girl two years younger than him."

Alicia had no idea how wrong she was. But, he didn't go for her…


	3. What would I do without them?

A/N: I know this one is much longer, but I hope you manage to read through it without nodding off. A few things happen, and I'm not even sure I like what I wrote, but I spent too much time just to start over. It explains quite a bit though, so I hope it's not too boring... Read and Review!

Chapter 3: Where in the bloody hell would I be without them?

Bright light streamed in through the window when I woke. Alicia rolled over to face me and laughed.

"Had a good rest, I take it?" she inquired, yawning.

"Urgh," I groaned in reply, tucking the blanket over my head. It's the weekend; why can't I just sleep? I'm not a morning person.

"Up, you lazy girl, get up!" shouted Angie, pushing me off the bed. I hit the floor with a thump, dragging my pillow with me.

"Fine, fine," I mumbled, staggering to my feet. I changed into fresh clothes and began my morning routine: hair combed and straightened, teeth cleaned, face washed, make-up applied. I looked in the mirror and what stared back was a blemish-less face with blue-gray eyes rimmed in black. Not exactly pretty, but not hideous either.

Alicia and Angelina had already made their way down to the Great Hall, so I left Gryffindor Tower alone.

"Sterling, just sterling," I muttered to myself, cynicism dripping from my voice. Walking the halls of Hogwarts alone was never a fun trip. I tread into one of the many corridors and watched my feet as I walked, listening to the echoing tap on the floorboards. Suddenly, I was jerked from my calm trance and pinned to the wall.

"Aye-up, there," smirked Chaz Preston, the resident 5th year perv of Slytherin. I struggled to push him away.

"Back off, arse!" I cried, pushing him away. He only pressed his body closer to mine. It's not that I was someone chaps normally go after; I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Which, by the way, is my specialty.

His lips were now pressed to my neck and his hands were working their way up my shirt.

"Shod off, bloody creep!" I shouted again, hoping this time someone else would hear. And of course somebody did, it just happened to be the last person I wanted help from.

"Oi, get off her!" bellowed Wood, his deep voice echoing off the walls, "you heard her!" Preston jumped off and pulled out his wand, backing away. I regained my composure and glared at the kid, my hands forming fists at my side. Wood, though, scared him off first.

"If I ever see you hurting her, or anyone else in this school, you won't live to see Dumbledore expel you!" he yelled, his wand poking threateningly at the bloke and Preston shuddered and ran in the opposite direction, heading for the Slytherin dungeons.

"Thank you," I said, looking up at him. I'm fairly tall for a girl, and he still stood a good 11 or 12 centimeters taller than me. Blimey. "But I still hate you."

"Likewise, Caine," he spat, "but you're welcome." We headed toward the Great Hall, keeping our distance all the while.

"Oi, where've you been?" George asked when I sat down between he and his brother.

"Aye, you look like you've had a run with Peeves or something," Fred told me. I shook my head.

"No, but Chaz Preston managed to stop me in the corridor," I said shakily, "you don't need to hear all the details, and I don't particularly want to relive the moment." Fred patted me caringly on the back and I laid my head on his shoulder. Angelina looked sympathetic.

"Ah, I'm sor-" she started, but Alicia cut her off.

"Wait – he's the perv chap from Slytherin! Oh, Ana, that's bloody awful," she interceded. Angelina looked to her to be sure she was done.

"As I was about to say, either you cleaned up or he didn't get to you too bad," she avowed, though it came out as more of a question. I sighed. They have a right to know, I guess, but I really didn't want to have to explain the worst part of the whole ordeal – accepting help from Oliver Wood.

"It was Wood. He scared the arse off the bofoon and threatened him," I stated plainly. George choked on his food.

"He stood up for you? And you let him help?" he asked, a little shocked. I nodded.

"What else was I supposed to do? Let the perv…you know...?"

"He helped you?" Alicia examined, looking a little dejected. "Why?"

"Well, was he supposed to let him hurt her?" Angie asked her.

"Oh, Leesh, we still hate each other. I established that years ago, it's never going to change," I assured her. She sighed.

Fred dropped his arm around my waist and I grabbed a tart without moving my head from his shoulder. Angie, Alicia and George had all noted our position but knew better than to ask if there was something up. We were much too gallus friends to even consider dating. I aggravatedly shoved my tart into my mouth whole, and Angelina raised her eyebrows.

"Peckish?" she asked sardonically. Fred laughed.

"It appears so," he countered, shifting. "I think I forgot something back in the common room," he said with a speculative look on his face. "Oh, aye…" he mumbled quietly to himself and got up from the table. I shifted over onto George's shoulder.

"What was that about?" Alicia questioned.

"Something," George stated bluntly. It was a little mysterious, but we girls knew exactly what was going on.

"Prank," we muttered simultaneously. He shot us shifty eyes.

"You're despicable," he grumbled back.

"And you're _predictable_!" we cried back. He snorted, but wrapped his arm around me.

"You don't hate us," I murmured, hugging him, "You just wish you could. But, you can't, so, just so we're clear: we love you, too." He grunted again, but smiled a few seconds later. They were a group, almost a clique, but not as exclusive. Nonetheless, the five of them would be best mates for as long as…well, forever.

* * *

Angelina and Alicia were sitting on Angie's bed, finishing the six inches of parchment on the summoning charm. For some strange reason I have no answer for, I was done. It's not that I'm a procrastinator; I just usually don't finish my homework early. It was assigned on Monday and they waited until now, a day later, to complete it.

The Gryffindor Quidditch tryout schedule was posted on the notice board to take gaff in two weeks. Angie and Alicia knew better than to say anything about it with me around. I can't stand the sport, even though my father happens to be a famous chaser for the Montrose Magpies. I looked down at the tattoo on my arm and sighed. It was a long story…

My mum met my father when they were in school; she a pureblood Slytherin and he a pureblood Ravenclaw here at Hogwarts. They fell in love…but maybe went a little overboard, because out I popped when they were both sixteen. It didn't matter much, though – Mum dropped out and my father stayed completely loyal to her, except for one other love – Quidditch.

My pater was obsessed with Quidditch – so much that my mum sometimes wondered whether he truly loved her. He got accepted onto the team when he graduated and they eventually married and lived rather happily for many years.

In time, the adorable little girl with Quidditch literally in her blood (the tattoo) grew up. I was ten years old when my mum decided she was done with my pater. He was 27 and still playing strong, and she was 27 and ready to give up. So she left. And expected me to leave with her. I knew for a fact my father loved me, and wanted nothing to do with the mother that was beginning to be more and more off her rocker…

So she committed suicide. Which confirmed my suspicions of her being a headcase - it's not that she was a mad, but who gives up their life because they're not chuffed about it? Definitely not normal people.

Which brings me here, the half-orphaned child living at boarding school. It's the dog's bollocks…not. I actually don't mind Hogwarts; it's the 'half-orphaned' part I'm not so keen on.

"I'll be down in the common room," I mumbled. Thinking about all this made me a little gloomy and I wanted to go find Fred or George.

"Alrigh' then," Angelina called distractedly as I headed out of the room and down the steps. I spotted Fred fumbling with some stuff on the couch and I sunk into the cushion next to him, trying to stop the burning in my eyes. I hardly ever cried, but I still got the feeling behind my eyes, and that was almost just as bad.

"Oi, alright pretty lass?" he asked, sensing my troubled feelings. I nodded, but he knew me too well to guess I was fine, but decided not to say anything. I can't stand it when people blab on and on when I'm upset. I'm more comforted by presence alone and my friends know that all too well.

"My bloody parents," I mumbled, informing him a little. He placed an arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer, knowing this was a touchy subject.

"It'll be alrigh', mate," he muttered, setting down the object he had been arsing about with. I leaned in and sighed. We must've sat for a while, because Alicia and Angie showed up and looked concerned.

"Aye, well keep your pecker up," Alicia said when I filled her in, pulling me up from the sofa. I nodded at them.

"I'm fine, thanks mate," I said, stretching. I needed a kip. Angelina gave Fred a hug and followed Alicia and I back up the stairs to our room. I do have the occasional bout of sadness from thinking of my parents, but hey – what are great friends for, if not cheering you up when you're down? I smiled and got ready for bed.


	4. Flying

A/N - I've been gone for a while, or rather, a really really long time, and I'm sorry. I read back through my story, though, and liked where it was going, so I decided to return and continue. Hope you enjoy it.

A few weeks had passed when I woke on a dewy Saturday morning, even before the sun had roused from its own slumber. Angie and Alicia were sound asleep, judging by the slow rise and fall of the mounds of sheets in the middle of each of their beds. I yawned and pushed my blankets forward, letting the chilly fall-morning air jerk me from my sleepy state. I crawled out of bed and pulled on my robes, stumbling quietly into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash off yesterday's make-up, only to reapply the little I normally wore. I yawned again, running my fingers through my long hair, still a light copper-brown thanks to the summer sun. It was crimped in places and straight in others due to my tossing and turning through the night, so I tied it back in a knot and brushed my bangs, which now hung down to my lips, to the side where I always wore them.

Looking in the mirror, I was not satisfied to see that was turning into the spitting image of my mother. She was shorter and curvy, I had inherited her curves and my father's height, making me taller and thinner – athletic looking, but still womanly enough to be found attractive. At fifteen, I appeared to be 18 or 19, just like she had 14 years ago. I have her large, blue eyes and long lashes, but also her somewhat thicker eyebrows. My lips are fuller and my nose is not as wide, but my face is long and oval, just like hers. I blinked and brushed my fingers through my hair again, another trait I shared with her – our hair identical in color and length. She always kept her hair long and nearly all the way down her back, and the sun did the same to her hair as it did to mine – turning it a reddish-brown from June until September or October, when the lack of sun finally caused it to darken into a rich brown. My mother was beautiful, so I shouldn't complain, but the last thing I wanted was another reminder of her.

I shook my head and tore my gaze away from my sad reflection, reaching under my bed and grabbing the broom my father finally sent me, one of his training brooms. I missed flying.

I quietly left our room and tiptoed through the common room and into the corridor. My feet made quiet echoes as I padded through the empty halls, watching for Peeves and other obstacles. It was still early, the sun barely kissing the horizon, and I needed some time alone. I hadn't had the chance to speak with my father in weeks, and I was finding I missed him. My arm tingled and I traced the tattoo, ducking silently into another corridor. Moving quicker, I edged toward the door and stepped outside, looking across the grounds to the Quidditch pit. Leaving all my stealth behind, I sprinted toward it, my legs itching to get off the ground.

Yes, I hated Quidditch. For what it's done to my father, to my mother, and to me, I hated it. But I didn't have to hate flying, and the pitch was always the perfect place to do just that. I stepped onto the grass and took a deep breath, closing my eyes and filling my lungs with the sweet smell of the air. The sun was above the horizon now, casting long shadows and warming my back. It was early and no one else was around, and for once, I felt fine. Like there was nothing wrong, like there had never been anything wrong in the first place. I had my amazing friends who were always there and my father, who was at least trying, despite everything. Compared to a lot of people, my life was easy.

I straddled my broom and kicked off the ground, feeling the familiar sensation of the wind rushing into my ears and the weightlessness of flying. I tugged my hair loose and let it dance behind my head as I looped around, gaining my bearings. I raced behind the Ravenclaw tower and then around Gryffindor's, suddenly jerking the end of my broom up and taking off along the side of the Slytherin tower, chasing the green and grey squares until I could no longer see them; lost behind me as I escaped into the clear blue of the sky. I let the broom drop me into free fall, headfirst toward the pitch and at the last minute, I pulled up and back into the air again, feeling the rush of flying enter my lungs. I hovered in the center of the pitch, staring up at the sky, anywhere but down, and laughed at myself. It was almost surreal – I never got over what it felt like to fly.

"Enjoying yourself, Caine?" I heard a voice boom from behind me and I jumped, nearly falling from my perch. I spun around and looked straight into the eyes of Oliver Wood. The high rushed from my lungs and I looked at him, emotionless.

"Why, Wood?" I asked him after a minute of the staring, shaking my head and dipping down below him, circling aimlessly. "Just tell me why you're here."

He laughed at me. "I wonder. Perhaps I'm here in order to practice," he speculated mordantly. "Instead, however, I come across the best flier I've seen in years, and in the least likely place I'd expect to find her."

"Please, Wood, spare me your sarcasm," I looked at the ground, so far below us, and then combed my fingers again through my hair, an old habit of mine. He watched my hand as I did this with an expression I couldn't quite read, and then shook out of it.

"Really, Caine," he exclaimed, "who would have thought that on a Saturday morning, while everyone else is sleeping, I'd come out here to see you flying on the Quidditch pitch! And not just flying, but…." His voice trailed off, and I waited for him to finish, but he never did.

"But what?" I demanded impatiently. He opened his mouth and closed it again, clearly searching for words.

"I – I don't know!" he sputtered. He took a deep breath and calmed. "I really don't know, Caine. You surprise me all the time."

"Why is that?" I snapped, though thoroughly intrigued.

"Never mind," he stated harshly, his voice hardening again and his accent thickening. "I think it's a waste you refuse to play." He shook his head, disappointed, and dipped his broom, down and sped off toward the other end of the pitch, leaving me staring for a moment before I raced off after him.

"You don't know the first thing about me, Wood," I said, leveling up with him. "Not about my life, not about my parents, not about my hobbies, my passions, and certainly not about me."

"Oh, is that so? And what if I wanted to?" he declared as we reached the goalposts and swung around them, winding up side by side once more. I shook my head.

"Your sarcasm isn't amusing," I articulated, then dipped low and stopped short as he continued to fly forward. He managed to recover from my dodge and return back to me fairly quickly. He was good with a broom. Suddenly, though, he ducked down to the pitch, dismounted his broom and disappeared into the field house.

I sighed and rocketed into the sky, corkscrewing as high as I could go, then suddenly, I released the broom, plummeting down in free fall as I let my broom race toward me. Something I did quite often, this was one of my favorite stunts. Apparently, however, some people aren't used to it, because just as I grabbed my broom and swung onto it, halting the fall about five meters above the ground, Wood was beside me.

"My God, Caine, what the bloody hell is your problem? I thought you were going to die on my witness!" he shouted at me, breathing heavy and looking truly scared and angry at the same time, clutching me with his shaking hands.

"I'm perfectly fine, in case you haven't noticed. I fly all the time, I'm good at it. Relax," I stated callously, staring him straight in the eyes. "Relax," I repeated, gentler this time. His breathing slowed and his hands quit shaking, and he jerked away from me when he realized what he was doing.

"Just warn me next time. Don't be so stupid," he mumbled, taking off in the opposite direction. And I let him go, because that was enough of Wood for one day.

And it was only seven o'clock.


	5. The Quaffle

"Hey!" I shouted as someone walking behind me thumped me on the back of my head. Suddenly Fred and Angie sat down on either side of me at the Gryffindor table, laughing. I sighed and rolled my eyes, smiling in spite of myself.

"Where's Fred and Alicia?" Angie asked me, shoving a forkful of my potatoes in her mouth. I scowled at her and grabbed my fork out of her hand.

"I don't know, you pig," I joked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice from my goblet. "You mean you haven't seen them?" I looked at Fred and he shrugged, yawning and piling up a load of food for himself. I yawned myself and looked down the table, but saw neither of them.

"Well then," Angie said, taking some modest portions of tonight's dinner. After flying this morning, I found myself exhausted and crashed in our room, sleeping through lunch. I hadn't seen anyone else all day.

We ate in comfortable silence, and when I finished, I pushed my plate away and rested my head on my elbows, yawning regardless of how much I had slept.

"Still tired, eh?" asked Fred, rubbing my back for a moment with his free hand before shoving a forkful of food in his mouth and taking a gulp of pumpkin juice.

"I guess," I said, stretching my arms over my head, "though I can't imagi-"

"Where were you this morning?" Angie cut me off. "I woke up and you were gone, but I fell back asleep. Then when I woke again, you were back," she said, looking quizzical. The jig was up.

"I was out flying," I mumbled. "Out on the pitch."

"Was anyone else there?" Fred asked, taking a break between bites.

"Nope," I said easily, taking a gulp from my goblet. "Just me." They didn't have to know, no one did. I don't like Oliver Wood, and that will never change. I didn't need someone getting the misguided notion that I could actually be friends with someone like him.

"Oh, look, there they are!" Angie exclaimed as Alicia and George sat down across from us.

"Hey, sorry it took so long. We were studying for, uh, potions," Alicia sputtered, smoothing her hair. George looked calm, but Alicia seemed frazzled.

"Studying? On a Saturday afternoon?" Angie asked, looking from one to the other.

"Yeah," George pronounced carefully. "Snape was really angry at us and a few other Gryffindors yesterday. We all now have to take a quiz on Monday about things we learned back in third year…"

"And it's George's fault," Alicia stated plainly. Angie and I winced while Fred and George hi-fived, laughing.

"You guys seriously need to control yourselves. Honestly," Angie shook her head and stood to walk away, but Fred reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back.

"Come on, Angie-" Fred laughed, "Have a little fun once in a while!" George finished. She squirmed but still let a smile crack her lips. Alicia hit George on the arm, though she was smiling too.

"I just don't want to have to take any more unnecessary quizzes!" she said, elbowing him in the side. He ruffled her hair and Fred let go of Angie, who sat back down at my left. I bumped my shoulder into Fred and gently nudged George's knee under the table with my foot.

"Alright guys, enough…" I said, beaming and suppressing a chuckle. Fred tugged on my hair and kissed me on the top of my head.

"You love us anyway, so what's the point," he stated, and I laughed, nodding.

Suddenly, the owls fluttered in, carrying letters and packages to the awaiting students of Hogwarts. I scanned the masses for my father's owl, but either I didn't see it, or it was unrecognizable amongst the throng of brown feathers. A surge of childish hope heaved through me as a seemingly familiar owl with a letter flew towards me, but it hurried by and dropped the letter in the awaiting hands of a Hufflepuff second year. I sighed, angry at myself for being disappointed. I knew my father, he's always been like this, and I loved him anyway - I just couldn't shake the nagging frustration that my own father couldn't take twenty minutes to write a short letter to his only daughter.

Angie put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze, but I shook my head.

"No, I'm fine. He's just busy, I get it," I mumbled, shoving a biscuit in my mouth. That tended to be my way of getting out of having to say anything.

All of a sudden, however, a small brown owl bumbled through a window, heading towards us with a large round object wrapped in paper.

"Ping-ering-on?" I managed to say, having not chewed my food all the way. Alicia scowled at me, but I shook my head, swallowing painfully. "Look," I said, pointing, a smile splitting across my lips, "Pinkerington!"

It was my father's bird, named by my mother in a moment of absentmindedness. He awkwardly flew over toward us and dropped the package twice his size in my lap, landing next to me on the table. I smiled at the creature.

"Thank you, Pink," I said to him, holding out a portion of a biscuit. He took it in his beak and cooed softly, then more swiftly now without the round package, took wing toward the window.

"What is it?" asked George as Fred poked at it cautiously.

"I'm assuming it's a load of eyeliner and blusher he wanted me to give to the two of you," I joked, and they rolled their eyes.

"Blimey, if we knew something from your father could cheer you up this much we would have complained to him ourselves," said George, and I shrugged.

"It's been weeks! You hear from your parents daily," I said, bumping Fred in the shoulder with mine.

"Unfortunately," he muttered, "Consider yourself lucky." I grimaced.

"So what is it?" Angie burst, reaching at it. I quickly snatched it away. I looked up to see we were dismissed. "I'll open it in the common room." Angie grumbled something, but I didn't hear it as we filed out of the great hall.

"The suspense is killing us," whined Alicia, reaching out for it. I pulled it away and gave her a scowl. Alicia, George and I were sitting on the couch and Angie and Fred were standing, all looking at me expectantly. There were a lot of other Gryffindors around, and I wasn't too sure I wanted to open it in front of everyone. As if reading my mind, Angie piped in.

"Oh, no one else cares, just open it," she articulated, tapping her foot. I shook my head, chuckling, and tore the paper slightly. Scarlet leather. _What?No…_

I grabbed the paper and tore it from the object. I sat back and sighed. _Jeez, Dad, you finally send something and it had to be this?_

"A quaffle?" George said, grabbing it off my lap.

"You can have it," I grumbled, standing up to leave.

"Wait," he called, and I turned around. He held a small folded square of paper up to me. "He left you a note with it."

"Thanks," I muttered, already unfolding it.

_My dearest Ana,_

_Sorry I've left you hanging there for these past few weeks. Quidditch has been all encompassing these days, you know? Maybe you don't, but I can't help but wish you'll forgive me. I'll try to write more, I promise._

_The Magpies are pushing me to convince you to play. Lody and Borak's kids are all under ten, and they're already playing. We know you're good, and so do you. You have a chance to really make Gryffindor a great team. When you have off, maybe you could come and practice with us a few times? You used to love that, Ana, before M__om passed aw__ everything happened._

_I sent you the quaffle so maybe you'd consider it, for me. And if not, at least you'd think of me when you saw it. Or, if it's really that bad, you can just give it to Oliver, I'm sure he'd have a use for it._

I dropped the letter.

Oliver? As in…Oliver _Wood?_ How the hell does he know Wood? I looked back to the letter for some sort of explanation. Instead, all it said was:

_Anyway, sorry I didn't write for so long. I love you so much._

_Love,_

_Dad._

"So what'd he have to say?" asked Fred, coming up behind me and plucking the letter out of my hands. I let him, still stunned. He skimmed through it.

"Wood? How does he know --" he started, but took one look at the resentment on my face and stopped. "Come on. Don't get angry now." He wrapped an arm around me and I put my face into his shirt.

"AGGGHHH!" I yelled into his shoulder, which muffled the sound quite well.

"Atta girl, you're alright," he mumbled, and I could tell he was trying not to smile.

"It's just these two hells in my life are suddenly put together and it's twice as bad," I mumbled, still talking into his shirt. He sighed and wrapped his other arm around my shoulders.

"You'll be alright. You want me to ask Wood how they know each other, so you can at least clear that up?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, no…" I said, turning my face so I was at least audible. "Thanks mate, but I think I can talk to him myself. Thanks though, really." He nodded and let me go, handing me my letter and smiling at me, patting my back.

"It's not like they're engaged, Ana," he said, making me smile too.

"I know, I know," I said, shaking my head. "It's just Quidditch, Wood, my father…it's too insane sometimes." He nodded understandingly, and put his fingers under my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

"Neither Wood nor your father are bad men, and Quidditch is not a bad sport," he said, "and I think you know that. For some reason that I cannot comprehend, you choose to ignore what you know and go with what you _want_ to think." He was smiling, but sounded so serious it scared me a little.

"Who are you and what have you done with Fred?" I joked, and he chuckled.

"Just promise me you'll remember that, Adriana?"

"I will."

George nodded at us and tossed me the quaffle. I headed upstairs and Fred headed back to them. I needed some sleep.


End file.
